


Accidents Will Happen

by Corvidology



Series: Collection of POI fic by Draycevixen [62]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Focus on emotional aspects not on physical mpreg, Government Experimentation, M/M, Mpreg, No Birth Scenes, Pining, not a/b/o
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 12:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17121551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvidology/pseuds/Corvidology
Summary: Written for thePerson of Interest Fanworks Community Advent CalendarThe more you wanted to keep a secret, the more impossible it was.





	Accidents Will Happen

The more you wanted to keep a secret, the more impossible it was.

It should have been an easy take down but his head wasn't in the game. He hesitated when he should have just run and by the time he'd taken off he'd been an easy target. He'd been lying on his back, the gunman raising his gun and slowly approaching until a shot from Shaw had the gunman collapsing onto him, knocking the breath out of him. 

Shaw and Fusco had loaded him into the back of the van, gently on Fusco's part at least, and Finch had climbed in after them. 

"How badly are you hit?"

"Just in the arm."

"Just?" Finch raised his voice to match his eyebrows. 

"Don't worry, Finch, I'll still be able to take care of the numbers."

"That's not what I— we'll go to the safe house where Ms. Shaw can take a closer look at you."

He really shouldn't have snapped at Finch. It wasn't his fault he didn't feel the same. "I'm fine, just drop me off—"

Finch didn't even look at him. "Fusco, the safe house, now... If you please."

"Yes, sir." 

You could always rely on Fusco to take orders just when you wanted him to balk.

 

At the safe house, Finch had started to take off John's jacket but had stopped when he'd glared at him. He knew he was being ridiculous but despite the pain in his arm he shrugged off his own jacket. 

"Shirt too." Shaw was already opening the medical kit. 

This time Finch didn't attempt to help and he fumbled his way out of the shirt. Under it, he had a bullet proof vest on.

Finch, Fusco and Shaw all stared at each other like they were practicing synchronized swimming. 

He had to distract them. "Don't look so surprised. I finally decided to take Finch's advice. I owe it to the numbers to stay alive as long as possible."

Finch and Fusco looked unconvinced but Shaw shrugged and went to work on his arm. "Lucky it just grazed you." 

"Yeah, lucky." 

Shaw cleaned the wound and taped over it. 

He thought he'd gotten away clean but Shaw was too observant for that. "You're also bleeding from the top of your shoulder."

"It's nothing, just a graze."

"Mr. Reese, please let Ms. Shaw take a look at it."

"I'll clean it up myself."

"John."

If Finch had been insistent he would have resisted again but he'd spoken softly. "All right."

Shaw got more disinfectant ready to go. "You're going to have to unstrap the vest so I can get to it properly."

He tried to reach over with his wounded arm to just unfasten the shoulder strap. It was slow going and Shaw was predictably impatient. "You don't have anything I haven't seen before, Reese."

She pulled all the Velcro tabs and the bullet proof vest fell away. 

"Well, I haven't seen that before." Fusco was staring at John's stomach. 

"If Mr. Reese has put on some weight—"

"That's not weight, Finch. Saw it just like that with my ex-wife when she was carrying Lee. Those are stretch marks."

Shaw started cleaning the wound. "Like I said, you don't have anything I haven't seen before."

"What?" Finch, Fusco and John spoke together. 

"To the CIA, apart from all our other uses, we're also guinea pigs. Try all sorts of things out on us along with the rest of our shots."

"Who was it?" He was already trying to think if there was any way he could talk to the other agent without giving them away.

"Hersch. I think it was Control's but I never had the nerve to ask. He didn't make it to term though so it was a moot point."

John unconsciously placed one hand protectively on his belly, rubbing it gently.

"How far along are you?" Shaw was methodically putting away the medical supplies. 

"About three months."

"You've seen a doctor? Other than me, I mean."

"Who would I see? I peed on one of those sticks from the drugstore." He'd peed on 16 sticks from the drugstore, but who was counting. 

"And you want to keep—"

"Yes."

"Then we're breaking into a hospital tonight so I can check how things are going."

"I didn't know you cared, Shaw." He was grateful, but Shaw didn't do gratitude. 

"Just curious."

Finch didn't ask if he could join them but when they headed to the van he was there, offering to drive, carrying the lumbar support cushion from his chair. Finch opened the back door of the van, placed it carefully in the seat and insisted on helping John in. He was too surprised to say anything but rallied when Finch tried to cover him in a blanket. 

"It's 75° out, Finch."

"You might need it later. It's still getting colder at night." Finch stared him down. 

He grabbed the blanket and put it on the seat beside him. He didn't know why Finch was still standing there watching him, until Finch sighed and reached for his seatbelt. 

"I can take care of that, Finch." He strapped himself in. 

He didn't know whether to be amused or offended that Shaw didn't argue with Finch about who was driving but just climbed into the passenger seat. 

They didn't have to break in to the hospital. Shaw walked right in through Emergency and came out in a doctor's coat with a wheelchair which she insisted John get into before she covered him with Finch's blanket. He tried to ignore the smug look on Finch's face. 

He'd wanted to ask Finch to wait outside but it became painfully obvious the only way that was happening was if he or Shaw forcibly ejected him. 

He'd known he was pregnant but it only became real as he stared at the image on the screen. Finch was gripping his hand so hard he thought he might crush bones but he was too terrified and happy all at the same time to say anything about it. 

"How far along did you say you were?" Shaw was taking measurements with the ultrasound. 

"Three months." 

"Baby looks bigger, further along."

Finch squeezed harder. 

"All the babies in my family are big."

"Guess that explains it. It's a completely healthy looking boy." Shaw gave him a towel to wipe the gel off his stomach. "Mazel tov."

Finch's hold slackened. "Is your... partner involved in this?"

"No, it was a one night stand, nothing more."

 

He was not surprised when Finch started assigning the numbers to Shaw and Fusco, keeping him in the library with him as a consultant. Part of him wanted to insist he was still more than capable of doing his job but most of him liked not having to wear a bulletproof vest all the time over his growing belly. 

He still brought in tea and baked goods to the library (Finch frowned the one time he brought coffee for himself) but other than that Finch took over, going out to fetch healthy balanced lunches and even dinners for them when they were working late which was almost every day. Finch lavished attention on him, treats like Jacques Torres chocolate, along with footstools and maternity pillows appearing by the couch and even a couple of books on pregnancy. He even showed John his secret bedroom concealed behind one of the sets of bookshelves, just in case he ever needed to take a nap or sleep over. 

The weird thing in among all this attention was Finch stopped talking to him about hardly anything not directly related to the numbers and turned him down the few times he suggested they went out for lunch or dinner instead in the hopes of eliciting the companionable conversations they'd fallen into after working together for so long. This remote Finch was far too much like the one he'd known in the early days of their partnership and he didn't like his return one bit. 

He picked up a chair, brought it over to the desk and turned Finch's office chair to face him, effectively blocking him in. 

"What's wrong, Finch?"

"Nothing." Finch wasn't meeting his eyes. 

"You said you'd never lie to me. Is it the pregnancy? I didn't plan it. I didn't even know it was possible."

"Yes, I know that but you obviously... never mind."

"Finch!"

"Had unprotected sex." Finch removed his glasses and started cleaning them with a cloth from his pocket. "With a complete stranger."

His chest hurt. "And you're worried about where that might have left the numbers?"

"Yes. No. I'm not sure what I mean... I cannot believe you didn't take sensible precautions. What about— those who care about you?" 

Why did everything always have to be so difficult? "The first time I loved it so much I guess I just wanted to try it again."

"The _first_ time?" Finch put his glasses back on, his eyebrows arching high in disbelief above them. "You really expect me to believe that you were a—"

"First time _catching_." He'd only offered out of consideration and still couldn't believe how fucking good it had been. "First time unprotected as well."

"But you didn't want to repeat it with... Never mind, it's really none of my business." Finch turned his chair back around to his desk and John let him. 

It wasn't like repeating it had been a possibility no matter how much he'd wanted it. 

 

They'd had a little too much wine, Finch had tripped weaving back to the couch with two more glasses and he'd fallen into John's arms, spilling their wine everywhere. Drunken logic had them both stripping off their wet clothes to be more comfortable and then things had got decidedly uncomfortable in all the best ways. Harold had started it, sucking his cock with a skill and enthusiasm that had left him seeing double, but it was John who'd bent over the computer desk and offered up his ass like he'd long fantasized about doing. 

"We can't John, I have lube in the desk but no condoms."

He just gotten harder thinking about Harold using the lube when he was alone in the library. He babbled something about their both being clean and it being a long time for both of them and it had been enough in their tipsy state. Harold had worked him with his mouth, tongue and lubed fingers and it had all felt extraordinarily good, previously ignored nerve endings firing on all cylinders, until Harold had withdrawn his fingers and started to slowly work in his much larger cock, stopping only when the head of it was fully inside. There'd been pain and a really uncomfortable sense of fullness and he'd been on the verge of asking Harold to pull out, when he'd taken John's cock in hand, withdrew a little and driven back in, unerringly finding John's prostate again and again. He'd come hard in an embarrassingly short amount of time and when he'd felt Harold start to withdraw he'd begged him to come inside of him. 

He had no one but himself to blame for his pregnancy. If Harold had still been there the next morning, shown even the slightest inclination that he wanted the same things John wanted that would have been different. But instead, Finch has chosen to leave and then act like it had never happened so John had had no choice but to follow suit.

 

"John?"

He'd been lost in the memory of it and hadn't heard a single word Finch had said. "I'm sorry, Finch. Just tired I guess."

"Quite." Finch stood up. "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable on the couch?" Once they were both seated, Finch perched on the edge of the couch, the conversation stalled.

"Finch?"

"It's just that... I mean to say... I think it would be for the best..."

"Spit it out, Finch."

"I want to marry you and adopt your child." 

Harold _did_ want him. Him and their child. For the first time in his life he was going to get everything he wanted. 

"Of course it would be a marriage in name only, you'd still be free to live your life anyway you wish but your child would never want for anything."

He should have guessed. Finch just wanted to look after his child like he'd looked after him. Why on earth would he ever want more than a one night stand from John, knowing everything about him the way he did.

"I won't marry you." To have everything he wanted in 'name only' would be the worst kind of hell imaginable. But his child would turn out much better with someone like Finch permanently in his life rather than left with only John's influence. "But you can adopt my child."

"I was hoping— then it's settled. I'll have the paperwork drawn up."

It was probably just wishful thinking but Finch sounded disappointed by his response. "Why did you want to marry me, Finch? You know you could adopt my child without doing that."

"I'm sorry, John. I'm deeply ashamed to admit I was trying to take advantage of the situation. I was hoping, given time, that you might come to care for me the way I care about you."

He tried to stifle the hope building inside him. "Then why did you leave that night?"

"Because you told me to go, John. You were very clear on the subject. You told me you didn't want anything more to do with me and I'd had such hopes. It was wrong of me to hope your child might connect us. I hope you'll forgive me eventually and I want you to know I am sincere about adopting your child."

"I was drunk, Harold. I was drunk yet still instinctively trying to protect you from becoming involved with me." He reached out and took Harold's hand, raising it to his lips. "But it seems we might be stuck with each other despite my best efforts."

They grinned at each other just like idiots in love might do.

"I suppose we are."

"Harold." He put his hands on either side of Harold's face and drew him in towards him. "I hope to god the baby inherits more from you than from me."

"You mean?" Harold placed his hand reverently on John's belly.

"Yes, Harold. You don't have to adopt our baby."

"Then all we have to do is get married."

"Yes, Harold." He stood up and took Harold's hand, leading him back towards the bedroom. "But first, the honeymoon."


End file.
